heard.
He had. With a flick of the king’s hand, four guards marched toward the crowd, located the man, and wrenched him forward so forcefully that he fell to his knees just left of where Magnus had dug into the soft, grassy earth. When he tried to rise, a guard pushed him back down. The empty bottle he clutched in his right hand fell to the ground.
King Gaius approached, beckoning for both Magnus and Aron to come to his side.
The man wore what looked like finely tailored clothes that had slowly tattered to near rags. A jeweled ring, crusted in grime, encircled his left index finger. His face held a few weeks’ worth of dark beard and he smelled as if he hadn’t had bathed in the same amount of time. His eyes were glazed with however much wine he’d consumed but otherwise fiercely fixed on those who now faced him.
The king swept his gaze over the man. “What is your name?”
He answered defiantly. “Darius Larides, lord of this land, formerly betrothed to Emilia, late crown princess of Auranos. I chose to fight in the battle against you. And now my family is dead for having opposed you, my home destroyed. My future holds nothing but pain—but I assure you, yours holds the very same! The people here will not always believe your lies. They will not allow you to rule unchallenged. More rebel forces gather even as we speak. Auranians are not as stupid and self-involved as you think we are.”
The king’s expression was unreadable. He raised his voice loud enough to be heard by those gathered nearby. “Lord Darius thinks I believe you all to be stupid and self-involved. I do not. You are the wisest of all your fellow countrymen for coming here to celebrate with me today. This lord is full of drink and foolish bravery. Perhaps another day he would not be so bold to insult a king who only wishes the best for his kingdom.”
There was a tense pause.
“I’m sure we can find a good place for him in the dungeon,” Magnus said, looking away as if bored. “He may yet have worth. It sounds as if he comes from an important family if he was betrothed to the eldest Bellos girl.”
“Do you agree, Lord Aron,” the king asked, “with what my son suggests?”
Aron’s brow creased, as if he was grappling for the correct response. “I don’t know, your grace.”
Magnus glared at the useless boy. Why did his father care to even ask his opinion?
“It’s difficult,” the king said, nodding. “But such moments as these require a decisive statement. Stand up, Lord Darius.”
With rough prompting from the guards, the lord got to his feet. He moved his hateful glare over the three that stood facing him, his arms held tight behind him.
“Would you take back your words?” the king asked smoothly. “And issue a public apology for what you’ve said here, spoiling my ceremony with your lies and insults?”
Magnus’s gaze moved to the knife in the king’s hand, which caught a glimmer of sunshine.
Lord Darius saw this too. He swallowed hard, but he did not lower his gaze. “Take me to your stinking dungeon. Put me on trial for treason. I don’t care.”
King Gaius smiled slowly. “Of course you don’t. But kindly remember one thing, Lord Darius, if you could . . .”
“What?”
“A king does not take orders from a worm.”
The knife moved so quickly that all Magnus saw was a flash of glinting metal. The next moment, blood sprayed from the drunken lord’s throat and he fell to the ground.
The king raised the weapon above his head to show the crowd. “A fitting blood sacrifice for my road, for you all to witness for yourselves. Lord Darius was an enemy to you all, as much as any common rebel. I truly wish to be a benevolent king to all citizens of the newly united Mytica, but I will not tolerate those who would stand against me.”
Magnus watched the blood seep from the gaping wound on the lord’s throat, soaking into the ground. Lord Darius’s gaze was on Magnus himself, filled with hatred even as
He had. With a flick of the king’s hand, four guards marched toward the crowd, located the man, and wrenched him forward so forcefully that he fell to his knees just left of where Magnus had dug into the soft, grassy earth. When he tried to rise, a guard pushed him back down. The empty bottle he clutched in his right hand fell to the ground.
King Gaius approached, beckoning for both Magnus and Aron to come to his side.
The man wore what looked like finely tailored clothes that had slowly tattered to near rags. A jeweled ring, crusted in grime, encircled his left index finger. His face held a few weeks’ worth of dark beard and he smelled as if he hadn’t had bathed in the same amount of time. His eyes were glazed with however much wine he’d consumed but otherwise fiercely fixed on those who now faced him.
The king swept his gaze over the man. “What is your name?”
He answered defiantly. “Darius Larides, lord of this land, formerly betrothed to Emilia, late crown princess of Auranos. I chose to fight in the battle against you. And now my family is dead for having opposed you, my home destroyed. My future holds nothing but pain—but I assure you, yours holds the very same! The people here will not always believe your lies. They will not allow you to rule unchallenged. More rebel forces gather even as we speak. Auranians are not as stupid and self-involved as you think we are.”
The king’s expression was unreadable. He raised his voice loud enough to be heard by those gathered nearby. “Lord Darius thinks I believe you all to be stupid and self-involved. I do not. You are the wisest of all your fellow countrymen for coming here to celebrate with me today. This lord is full of drink and foolish bravery. Perhaps another day he would not be so bold to insult a king who only wishes the best for his kingdom.”
There was a tense pause.
“I’m sure we can find a good place for him in the dungeon,” Magnus said, looking away as if bored. “He may yet have worth. It sounds as if he comes from an important family if he was betrothed to the eldest Bellos girl.”
“Do you agree, Lord Aron,” the king asked, “with what my son suggests?”
Aron’s brow creased, as if he was grappling for the correct response. “I don’t know, your grace.”
Magnus glared at the useless boy. Why did his father care to even ask his opinion?
“It’s difficult,” the king said, nodding. “But such moments as these require a decisive statement. Stand up, Lord Darius.”
With rough prompting from the guards, the lord got to his feet. He moved his hateful glare over the three that stood facing him, his arms held tight behind him.
“Would you take back your words?” the king asked smoothly. “And issue a public apology for what you’ve said here, spoiling my ceremony with your lies and insults?”
Magnus’s gaze moved to the knife in the king’s hand, which caught a glimmer of sunshine.
Lord Darius saw this too. He swallowed hard, but he did not lower his gaze. “Take me to your stinking dungeon. Put me on trial for treason. I don’t care.”
King Gaius smiled slowly. “Of course you don’t. But kindly remember one thing, Lord Darius, if you could . . .”
“What?”
“A king does not take orders from a worm.”
The knife moved so quickly that all Magnus saw was a flash of glinting metal. The next moment, blood sprayed from the drunken lord’s throat and he fell to the ground.
The king raised the weapon above his head to show the crowd. “A fitting blood sacrifice for my road, for you all to witness for yourselves. Lord Darius was an enemy to you all, as much as any common rebel. I truly wish to be a benevolent king to all citizens of the newly united Mytica, but I will not tolerate those who would stand against me.”
Magnus watched the blood seep from the gaping wound on the lord’s throat, soaking into the ground. Lord Darius’s gaze was on Magnus himself, filled with hatred even as
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